


My Boss Is A Lv. 99 Demon Lord With An Unfairly High Evasion Stat. Can I Report This To HR?

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Assassins & Hitmen, Boss/Employee Relationship, Corruption, Demons, Enemies to Lovers, Exorcisms, Gun Violence, M/M, Power Imbalance, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Tension, Some Humor, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27328528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: Huang Renjun is a good exorcist.It's just that Na Jaemin won't do as he's told.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 70
Kudos: 600
Collections: '00 FIC FEST ROUND TWO





	My Boss Is A Lv. 99 Demon Lord With An Unfairly High Evasion Stat. Can I Report This To HR?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #00138 for '00 Fic Fest - Round Two.

To be a good exorcist, one must not ask questions about a job.

Asking questions about a job gives space for doubt to grow.

Doubt, even just a tiny little sprouting seed of it, makes it difficult to pull the trigger.

Huang Renjun is a good exorcist. His long list of dead demon bodies is testament to that. He can pull the trigger with no trouble because he has no doubts — not even the tiniest of sparks. And he has no doubts because he does not ask questions about a job. 

Questions cause trouble. And Renjun hates trouble.

When the encrypted email from his handler SHXTAR0 comes in at 11:04AM and shows Renjun the details of his next mark, he does not question that the name and the photo and personal details all belong to his boss. He does not question why The Church wants his boss dead. He does not question why he didn’t pick up on the fact that his boss is a demon. The same boss he’s worked under for the last two and a half years as part of his cover. The same boss whose glass-walled office is on the other side of the very workroom he is sitting in now. The same boss who he can see pacing back and forth as the man speaks with someone on his cellphone.

Renjun does not question. He just accepts the job and sends an ‘OK’ confirmation.

The email deletes itself out of Renjun’s inbox seconds before his phone dings with a notification from his bank informing him of the sizable payment that has just been transferred to his savings account. So many zeroes. And that’s only the first half. Renjun will get the rest before his shift today is over because that’s how confident he is in his ability to do his job quickly and efficiently.

In fact, he’ll do it on his lunch break.

He waits—patiently—and clocks out for his hour-long lunch at 1:15PM, his usual time.

He takes his briefcase with him, like he usually does, and turns down Yangyang’s invitation to eat lunch together, like he usually does. It’s all about maintaining the façade. Nothing can be out of the ordinary.

Renjun rides the elevator nineteen stories down to the ground floor and orders a banh mi from the sandwich shop across the street from his building, his usual meal.

He takes his lunch down the block to the park with the big fountain and sits on one of the stone benches that faces the river, his usual spot.

He eats. He watches a cute couple spread out a blanket and have a picnic. He wonders, very briefly, what it must feel like to be in love. At 1:39PM, he throws his trash away and grabs his briefcase. Instead of walking back down the block to the office building where he works, however, he takes the pedestrian bridge across the river and walks two blocks east to a different building he’s familiar with. 

Like any good exorcist—like any good hitman—he enters through the front door. He nods at the other office workers like they have been coworkers for years and a few of them even nod back, not even questioning whether this man belongs among them or not. Renjun greets the doorman with such easy confidence that the balding elderly man doesn’t even stop him to try and get a better look at him or the false badge he waves. Renjun scoots in behind an employee right as they scan their badge to be let through an inner door, then he takes the stairs instead of the elevator. The walk up the stairs gives him time to run his hand through his long, dark hair until the hairspray gives enough for him to draw his locks back into a ponytail using a scrap of an old ribbon. The walk up the stairs gives him time to pull his mirror-lens shades from the pocket of his dress pants and sit them on his nose. It gives him time to pull the handkerchief from the front pocket of his jacket, unfold it and wrap it around the lower half of his face like an identity-concealing mask.

When he reaches the twenty-sixth floor, he’s not even winded. The stairs are just a warm up. He double-checks the stairwell but does not find any cameras, then he picks the lock to open the door to the roof. It’s balmy and sunny out but it is also very windy. The strong breeze is coming from the north and he will have to make adjustments for that when he takes aim. He uses his thumbs to spin in the combination to open his briefcase and, inside, is his beloved rifle.

Renjun puts it together with ease: pistol grip to action rail to variable scope to magazine to barrel. He opens a side compartment in his briefcase and the quicksilver bullets that rest there surrounded by brilliant red velvet gleam in the sunlight. If the quicksilver bullets aren’t enough, he knows the ammunition has been blessed by an ordained priest. SHXTAR0 is secretive but he is still a holy man. Renjun loads his rifle and then takes off the safety.

It is 2:00PM. His lunch break is nearly up. This will be over soon.

Renjun approaches the west side of the roof, lays down on his stomach and pulls his rifle up into position. He has to make adjustments to the magnification on his scope but after a few seconds of shifting his body for a better angle, he can now see straight into his boss’s office.

In fact, there his boss is now. The man still paces back and forth on his phone, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he suffers and listens to news he does not want to hear.

Renjun gets acquainted with the distance the other man paces. Six steps one way, slow turn, six steps the other way. There’s almost a musical rhythm to it.

Renjun will fire when Jaemin walks back this way, closer to the glass windows of his office. He makes the sign of the cross, two fingers to his chest, to his forehead, to his chest, to either shoulder. Hands clasped in quick prayer. Then he holds his rifle steady and squints through the scope.

Jaemin is four steps away.

Three steps.

Two steps.

One step.

Jaemin stops and turns.

Renjun puts his finger on the trigger and applies the mildest pressure. The shot will go through the back of Jaemin’s head. Clean. The exorcism will be instant. The demon will be damned back to hell in less than a breath.

Jaemin visibly hesitates, like he can feel eyes on him. He turns to face the window and then he— And then he— _Looks right up at Renjun?_

That is impossible. Renjun is several stories above him and three city blocks away. There’s no way Jaemin can see him from this distance yet he is looking directly in Renjun’s direction, making eye contact with him through the scope.

Perhaps Jaemin is simply staring off into the distance? Or perhaps he’s looking at a billboard or something?

Wait.

Is he… grinning up at Renjun? Is he… _waving?_ Like Jaemin has spotted an old friend out in public?

Renjun realizes that he is doing the one thing he’s never done before. The one thing he swears he’d never do:

He is asking questions.

He is giving doubt the fertile soil it needs to take root in his mind.

No. He _will_ pull this trigger!

He takes aim, leading a bit to his left to compensate for the wind, and then he fires his rifle.

The muffled shot is no noisier than a child’s balloon popping. The recoil is no harsher than a punch to the chest. Renjun stares through his scope. He stares and watches as Na Jaemin merely _tilts his head to the side_ to avoid taking a bullet through the skull. Then Jaemin smiles even wider and waves even more animatedly as if there isn’t a crack in the window in front of him. As if there isn’t glass all over the floor in front of his shoes. As if there isn’t a bullet lodged into his expensive sofa. As if there isn’t a choir of panicked screams as the man’s employees leap from their desks and run.

Renjun is too shaken to take a second shot.

He sits up, dismantles his gun, puts everything back in its place in his briefcase and then starts the descent back to the ground.

Renjun is no longer a good exorcist.

ɤ

His lunch break is over and he has failed his task.

He goes back to work in defeat.

He is not one to worry but, as he rides up to his floor in the elevator, he worries about what he should tell SHXTAR0. He’s never had an unfinished job before.

No. That’s a defeatist attitude! He will have plenty of other opportunities to exorcise Na Jaemin.

The prospect makes him smile.

Renjun has barely stepped off the elevator onto his floor when Yangyang rushes up to him, grinning in excitement, vibrating with energy. “Where have you been? You missed all the good stuff!”

Renjun smooths down the front of his suit jacket with one hand and readjusts his grip on his briefcase in the other. “What good stuff?”

“A big ole bird just crashed through the boss's window,” Yangyang says brightly, as if that’s the best news he’s ever heard. “Everybody freaked. There’s glass everywhere.”

“A bird,” Renjun repeats.

“Yeah. Poor thing. It smashed the window to bits. It didn’t survive.” Yangyang’s beaming smile doesn’t particularly fit his macabre words.

Renjun raises an eyebrow. It’s a preposterous, impossible story. These windows are far too thick for a mere bird to crack them but Jaemin has told his employees that a bullet was a bird and they believed it. Damn that brilliant smile of his. He could tell them anything and they’d eat it out of the palm of his hand. Renjun rolls his eyes and says, “A bird is what he calls it, huh?” Though he supposes that he should be grateful for the cover-up.

Yangyang keeps talking. About what he had for lunch, about how lunch would taste so much better if they ate together, about the final details of the presentation he’s been tasked with, about how boring that morning’s meeting was, about how he’s not so sure he likes Donghyuck’s new tie, about how he’s dreading tonight’s season finale because he doesn’t know what he’ll do on Thursday nights without his show. 

Renjun ignores the majority of the spiel. Yangyang does not stop once he gets started. His words… It’s all white noise that follows Renjun across the lobby, to the water cooler for an ice cold cup, to the other end of the workroom and to their adjacent desks. Renjun boots up his computer and sits down, ready to bury his nose in this unfinished Excel sheet until sundown. However, when Yangyang says, “I like your hair like that, by the way,” Renjun brings his full attention back to the present moment. His hair?

“Like… what,” Renjun exhales, but he’s already bringing his hand up to his hair, where it’s still snatched back into a low ponytail. 

“You look cool,” says Yangyang. Then he corrects himself. “You look cooler.”

And that makes Renjun tense and bristle. He’s not meant to look _cool_. He’s meant to look plain and assuming, no more attention-grabbing than beige wallpaper. No more appetizing than dry pancakes without syrup. He is a second away from pulling the ribbon from his hair when the glass door of Jaemin’s office swings open.

“Renjun, if you’re free, can I have a word?” Jaemin pushes his hands into his pockets.

Renjun exhales, ignores Yangyang’s childish ‘oooooh, you’re in trouble’ and stands up to approach Jaemin’s open office door.

The man is charming, to say the least. Smart and charismatic. Tall and broad shouldered. He’s taken off his suit jacket and his light blue dress shirt clings to a lithe, muscular torso. Light brown hair frames his handsome face, the locks gelled in a sideways swoop to expose his forehead. And that smile… That smile can bring nations to ruin.

Renjun steps into the office, unaffected by the man’s charms. “Anything I can help you with, boss,” he asks as Jaemin closes the door shut behind them. “If this is about me skipping out on last night’s company dinner—”

“No, no, no,” Jaemin speaks up quickly. “I’m not disciplining you. I respect that you’re not a drinker.”

Renjun craves efficiency. Dancing around the bush like this is not efficient. “What’s this about?”

“We needed a quick chat,” Jaemin says. “To touch base.” He strides across his office.

The second his back is turned, Renjun grabs an ink pen off of the small end table next to the door. He pops the cap off and clicks the end so the nub juts out. It’s not as sharp as a knife, but he has worked with duller objects to great success. Besides, all he needs is a quick prayer.

_Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…_

Renjun slips the pen behind his back just as Jaemin turns to look at him.

Jaemin says, “No need to stand by the door. Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand,” says Renjun, but he at least steps away from the door, all too aware that it is his only way out.

“Did you have lunch already,” Jaemin asks casually.

“Yes.”

“Shame. We could have taken lunch together.” He sounds genuinely disappointed. “Do you have any shop recommendations? Do you know any good Greek places? Or Italian?”

Renjun doesn’t answer him. He’s not here for conversation. If there is a problem or some form of bad news, he wishes Jaemin would just tell him.

Jaemin sighs when he realizes he’s not going to get a peep out of Renjun. “A chat can only really happen if both of us participate.” He presses a button on the console sitting on top of his cluttered desk and the wall of glass windows between the office and the workroom clouds over. It gives them privacy. Hides Yangyang’s gaping mouth and curious eyes from view as he presses his face to the glass. Jaemin continues, “So let’s chat.”

As long as Renjun’s worked for this company and this is only the third or fourth time he’s ever been called into his boss’s office. He’s made it his life’s mission to keep his performance middle-of-the-road here. Never exemplary enough to be praised. Never shoddy enough to be criticized. He’ll leave all of the Employee Of The Month plaques to Donghyuck. It is no blow to his pride. “What could there possibly be to chat about,” Renjun asks. 

“Just things,” says Jaemin cryptically.

And the look he gives Renjun is so full of purpose that Renjun tenses. His instinct puts him on guard and he finds himself stepping closer to the center of the room just to keep his back away from the wall. There’s no way that Jaemin _knows_. Right?

Renjun glances past Jaemin towards the floor-to-ceiling windows of the office. Towards the skyscrapers and elevated highways that make up their downtown view. The first thing he notices is that he can hardly see the building he had gone to on his lunch break, as much of it is blocked by the taller buildings that separate the two locations. The second thing he notices is that one of the window panes in Jaemin’s office is still cracked from the bullet Renjun fired and there is a low whistle filling the room as the outside wind fights to get inside the office. “Are you going to fix that,” Renjun asks as a way to play off why he’d been staring.

“A specialist is on the way,” Jaemin states. “The pane will be replaced before I leave tonight, I’m sure.”

“You’re not worried,” asks Renjun. He looks away from the window just in time to watch Jaemin prop himself up on the corner of his large desk. “You’re not concerned about… other birds coming through the window?” And maybe the question is too specific and gives him away.

Jaemin smirks. “That’s what I like about you, Renjun. You’re always looking out for me.”

“I can’t recall a single moment where I’ve ever tried to.”

And it’s not a joke but it still gets Jaemin chuckling. Gosh. His teeth are fantastic.

Renjun remembers his job. He remembers his mission. Behind his back, he tightens his grip on the ink pen. In the old days, priests stuck to scripture and prayer and holy water. Nowadays, with ever more powerful demons fearlessly walking the streets in broad daylight, there’s a need for something faster than a drawn-out ritual. All it takes is a blessed bullet. A fist wrapped in rosary. There are no human hosts to preserve. The demons have their own bodies. Even a knife is acceptable. An ink pen is no knife but it may as well be a knife in the hands of a good exorcist. And Renjun hopes he is still a good exorcist. He covers the pen with both fists behind his back so that Jaemin cannot see it then feigns interest in the paintings on the walls of Jaemin’s office as an excuse to circumnavigate the room and get himself closer to Jaemin’s throat without walking directly towards the man. “You still haven’t told me why you called me in here,” he prompts, staying aloof and cold. “If it’s nothing important, I have work to get back to.” He glances over his shoulder to ensure that Jaemin still leans against the corner of his desk. That Jaemin still watches his every move.

Jaemin grins at him and there’s no way he _knows_ but there’s also no way he _doesn’t_ know. “Just wanted to give you another chance, Renjun.”

“Another chance at what, boss?”

“Damning me back to hell.”

And the blunt words almost send Renjun shivering. He’s never been found out like this. He’s never been exposed. And since he must keep his cover here, he lunges into action. He rushes across the room, effortlessly jumps over one of the recliners, pulls the ink pen from behind his back and drives it towards Jaemin’s throat.

Jaemin just sort of sits down on his desk and leans back to avoid it. Like he was popping a crick in his neck. 

Their bodies collide. They are chest to chest. Hip to hip. And Renjun feels small and caged-in between Jaemin’s thighs. 

“Whoa there,” Jaemin says, like it’s all a joke. “Any farther than this and it’ll be a corporate nightmare. Want to wait until we’re off the clock?”

“I’ll take you off the clock.” Renjun leaps away.

“Please attempt.” Jaemin slides off the edge of his desk and takes a few steps away from it as if to give himself—to give them both—more room. Then he holds out his arms and gives Renjun a challenging head tilt. “Go ahead.”

Renjun lunges forward. He goes for Jaemin again and again, jabbing the pen at his throat.

Jaemin spins sideways to avoid each thrust, always managing to keep even a sliver of distance between Renjun’s weapon and his throat. No matter how quickly Renjun moves, no matter which angle he strikes from, Jaemin manages to stay a step ahead of him. Not a hair shifts out of place. His smile never falters. 

It’s infuriating. 

Renjun lets out a grunt of frustration as he tries to wrap his arm around Jaemin’s neck in a chokehold. Jaemin ducks out of his grasp and steps backward, making a minor adjustment to his tie the whole time. There’s no way Jaemin should be this fast! Renjun has been trained for this. He’s been an exorcist for _years_ and has never let a mark slip through his fingers. He’s damned demons masquerading as politicians and crooked cops and scientists and athletes and celebrities and teachers but he’s also damned demons living as gangsters, mob bosses and other hitmen. Demons who make a living fighting and killing. 

Even _they_ can’t put up much of a fight.

Yet Jaemin is… different. 

He moves almost as fluid as water. He moves like he knows what Renjun is going to do before Renjun can even do it and it pisses him off how he can’t seem to drive his ink pen into the man’s trachea.

Jaemin’s eyes flash fiery red. “You’re so good at this, Renjun,” he praises. He lifts a finger and points to his forehead, at a singular drop of moisture sliding down towards his eyebrow. “No one’s made me break a sweat in years.”

And his calmness is what upsets Renjun the most.

Renjun swings and thrusts, trying to drill the pointed tip of the ink pen into Jaemin’s smooth, tanned flesh, but Jaemin sidesteps every attack, spins away from every attempt on his life.

“How direct,” Jaemin teases. “At least take me out to dinner first.”

“Go to hell,” Renjun sneers.

“Only if I can bring an angel like you with me.”

Renjun usually doesn’t lose his cool, but the anger comes so readily. He’s never failed so miserably like this. He’s never had a failure giggle in his face like this. The anger fuels his movements. Makes him swing faster and faster, makes him chase Jaemin from one end of the office to the other in a violent dance of limbs. The one time Renjun takes the man off-guard, Jaemin catches Renjun’s fist in both hands to hold him off, to keep the pen out of his neck.

They are chest to chest again. Hip to hip. And Renjun realizes all too late that he’s allowed Jaemin to back him up against the desk.

“You’re so lively,” Jaemin coos. “I like that.” Effortlessly, he plucks the pen out of Renjun’s fist and stares at it like it is made of gold.

Renjun gasps. Yes, he spoke only a quick prayer over the pen but a prayer is a prayer. It should still burn. Yet Jaemin isn’t burned. He shrugs and tosses the pen so that it lands on the desk behind Renjun with a clatter. 

“Sweet child of Adam,” says Jaemin. “Will you let me corrupt you?”

“That’s impossible.” Renjun reaches out a hand but there is nothing on this end of the desk that he can use to fend the demon off.

Jaemin brings his face close to Renjun’s and when Renjun leans away from him, Jaemin moves in even faster, even closer. Renjun pulls farther away only to find that his back is pressed flat to the office desk’s surface, making it so much easier for Jaemin to stand between his thighs and lean over him. Jaemin’s eyes flash red again. It’s not a trick of the light. It’s a fiery, blazing glow like one of the inner circles of hell.

That’s when it clicks in Renjun’s head. Jaemin is no ordinary demon. He’s something _more_. No wonder SHXTAR0 sent him so much money for the job. Renjun swallows hard and accepts that he’s in over his head. He accepts that he’s terribly underleveled for a boss of this magnitude. The gap between their skills can’t be bridged. Even if Renjun manages to land a hit, he doubts he’ll do much damage.

Jaemin leans more of his weight on top of Renjun and, almost instinctively, Renjun relaxes beneath him, seconds from succumbing. Surrendering.

“Impossible, huh,” Jaemin responds.

Renjun changes his answer. “Okay. Maybe it’s improbable.”

Jaemin lightly presses his nose to Renjun’s neck and inhales like he’s savoring Renjun’s scent. It is not lost on Renjun that Jaemin playfully kisses the cross that hangs around Renjun’s neck, hardly visible beneath the collar of his dress shirt. It is not lost on Renjun that the cross does not burn the demon like it should. 

“This was fun,” Jaemin sighs. He sits up and Renjun resists the urge to snake his legs around Jaemin’s hips and hold him close. Jaemin says, “You’re welcome to try again and again. No need to warn me. Just go for it.” He grins like he’s just landed the biggest business deal of the fiscal year.

Renjun’s fingers brush against the discarded ink pen. He rushes through another prayer, as if layering his faith may help. He tightens his hand around the weapon. He exhales. With all of his might, with all of his speed, he sits up and swings his arm in an upward arc, a move that would have driven the sharp nub of the ink pen straight into Jaemin’s jaw if he didn’t back away with inhuman speed.

“See?” Jaemin sinks down into the leather recliner in front of his desk with a grunt like his old bones are hurting. He props his left ankle up on his right knee. “You’re keeping me on my toes. I _adore_ that.”

Renjun sits up, breathing hard. He holds the ink pen so tightly in his hand that he hears the casing crack. He loosens his hold on it. Drops it to the carpeted floor. He realizes that it is probably useless. “You’re a monster.”

To that, Jaemin shrugs. “Really? Where I come from, _you’re_ the monsters.”

There is a knock on the office door. The interruption comes almost as a relief.

Jaemin sings out, “You may enter,” like he is a lord and this is his throne room.

The door swings open and nerdy little Lee Jeno From Accounting enters in his sweater vest and slacks. “Sorry it took me a while,” he squeaks, “but I compiled all of the financial data from the month of—” He stops short when he realizes that Renjun is not Jaemin. Through his round-rimmed glasses, Lee Jeno From Accounting searches the room until he spots Jaemin reclining back in the leather chair. He clearly notices how wrinkled and undone and mildly sweaty they both look. He lets a simple, “Oh,” slip from his mouth.

Before Lee Jeno From Accounting can ask something embarrassing like ‘Am I interrupting something,’ Renjun slides off of the desk and says, “Don’t mind me. I was just leaving.” When he passes Jaemin’s chair, he purposefully ignores the man’s raised eyebrow.

Fortunately, he slips out of the office before Jaemin can say something totally wild at his retreating back. 

Unfortunately, he is barely out of the office before Yangyang latches on to his arm. “What did the boss want,” he asks. He gives Renjun’s arm a shake. “I heard you guys talking. Not that I had my ear pressed to the glass or anything. That would be creepy and invasive. I’m not an eavesdropper. But you did sound a little angry. I heard you tell him to go to hell.”

Renjun peels Yangyang’s hands off of his arm. “It was a performance review.” It’s almost the truth. In the vaguest sense. “He said that I’m severely lacking.”

“Oh, that’s cruel,” Yangyang pouts. 

“Is it,” asks Renjun. “He said nothing that was untrue.” He sits down at his desk and shakes his mouse to wake up the computer monitor.

Yangyang groans and says, “Still, he didn’t have to call you into his office like that and make a spectacle of it.”

“It is no big deal. He told me to get better. I will get better. Simple as that.” Renjun opens his email client and starts a new message. SHXTAR0 has always emailed him first. Never the other way around. He’s not even sure SHXTAR0 has an email address that can be reached by ordinary means but Renjun types the letters and numbers of the priest’s handle into the TO: field regardless, leaves the subject line blank and then types three simple words into the message field:

_I have failed._

Renjun hits send and prays his message reaches the priest.

ɤ

The restroom is quiet when Renjun walks in. 

He quickly checks the stalls and surmises that he is alone.

At last, he’s found a tiny little haven to retreat to in the middle of his hectic day. The employee lounge hadn’t been isolated enough. Even the office supply room with its shelves crammed full of staplers and printer paper and rolls of tape hadn’t been quiet, since at least four employees were in there attempting to unjam the printer. The restroom feels like Renjun’s last remaining option and he is grateful he can get away for a little while. Yangyang can be persistent on his own but, teamed up with a curious Donghyuck, the questions never cease and Renjun still wants to maintain some sort of emotional distance between himself and all of his coworkers. It seems like slinking off to the restroom for questionable lengths of time is his only way to escape the combined assault of their inappropriately personal conversation topics.

“Please, Lord,” Renjun whispers. “Send me a clear sign. Show me what my path is. Tell me what I am supposed to do.”

Renjun stands in front of the row of sinks and runs his hands beneath the lukewarm water. When they’re thoroughly soaked, he rakes his wet fingers through his hair and gently massages from the roots to the tips until he feels the hairspray begin to loosen its hold. He repeats the process until his hair is soaked and even the neck and shoulders of his dress shirt are damp. He pulls the ribbon out of his hair and works the dark locks into a flat and perhaps unflattering hairstyle that he hopes gets him no other compliments today. With a sigh, he props his hands on the counter and stares at his reflection in one of the mirrors. 

As long as he’s worked for The Church and he’s never questioned his devotion before. He’s never questioned his faith or any of the brilliant, beautiful things he believes in.

But today has shaken him.

Facing Jaemin has shaken him. Tested him.

For the first time, Renjun feels that his faith is not enough.

“Show me a sign, Lord,” he repeats. He hates how much it sounds like he’s whining. “What am I supposed to do next? Guide me with Your light.”

He is just about to dry his hands and leave when the restroom door swings open and none other than Na Jaemin strolls in. Even in the restroom’s horrifically flat lighting, he looks handsome. His eyes go wide with surprise when he spots Renjun. “Hello, child of Adam,” he chirps. 

“Hello,” Renjun says stiffly. Is this supposed to be an answer to his prayers?

Jaemin asks, “Will you be making another attempt on my life today?”

“That has yet to be decided,” Renjun mutters. He does not turn around to face the man head on but he does stare Jaemin down in the mirror.

It must thrill the demon. “Oh, such fierce determination in your eyes.” He tilts his body in one direction and then switches his weight from one foot to the other so that he can tilt his body the other way. What he sees amuses him. “You don’t even blink! You _really_ don’t want me to leave your sight, do you, angel?” He slips into the bathroom stall behind Renjun and closes the door. But only for a second before he swings it back open, leans his head out and makes eye contact with Renjun in the mirror again. “I promise you that I am not going anywhere. You can look elsewhere.” He shuts the door and Renjun hears it lock.

Renjun shakes his hands dry and starts towards the door.

“Oh, don’t leave,” Jaemin whines. “You’re so amusing. Please continue to entertain me.”

“Don’t you have something more important to do than joke around and tease me,” Renjun asks.

“Not particularly,” Jaemin says honestly. “I mean, we’re both in here to take a breather. Why should either of us be working?”

Renjun returns to the row of sinks. He slaps his hands down on the counter. He hates that Jaemin has a point. The only thing that awaits him outside is that blasted Excel sheet and Yangyang’s non-stop chatter. “I am no toy,” he grunts. “I’m not going to dance or sing for your enjoyment.”

“Oh, don’t take it that way. I just meant that you’re the one good thing to happen to me today.”

Renjun can see Jaemin’s dress shoes in the mirror. The man has not moved away from the door. He’s probably keeping just as much of an eye on Renjun as Renjun is keeping an eye on him. Good. “I just thought someone as important as you has better things to do than pay attention to me.” He turns the faucet back on and lowers the stopper so that the sink slowly fills. 

“You’re an interesting one, Huang Renjun,” Jaemin says from the other side of the door. “If I may make such a comparison, you are like a piece of genuine artwork.”

That makes Renjun scoff. He’s heard this one before. “Do you want to nail me into your bedroom wall?”

“I was going to say that you’re no forgery. You’re no counterfeit. But thank you for revealing what you actually want from me.”

Renjun’s face flushes. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“But _do_ you want me to nail you into my bedroom wall,” Jaemin asks. His voice is low and husky and drips with unforgivable sin. “I can sense your impure desires even from this far away.”

Renjun clears his throat. “This conversation is inappropriate for the workplace, don’t you think?”

Jaemin chuckles. “I thought we were talking about hanging paintings on the wall?” A brief pause. “But if you would like to further this discussion, we can go for dinner after this. No team-building exercise. Just the two of us.”

“I will not be sullied.” 

“A shame. You’d be a total delight to watch come undone.”

“You’ll never know the pleasure.” Renjun turns off the faucet. The sink is about half full. A good amount. He lowers his hands into the water and begins to quickly, desperately pray. He begs the Lord to forge a weapon for him that he can use against this evil. He begs for protection. He prays that he will be able to fulfill his duty and please the Lord. He asks that he may have the strength to face Na Jaemin. That he will have the power to overcome such a wicked obstacle. He hopes that he will be immune to temptation and that he will not give in to a demon’s playful whims just because he is a little pretty. When Renjun opens his eyes the water in the sink is clouded a milky white from the fervor of his prayers. Blessed. Empowered. The holy water would be far more dense and powerful if SHXTAR0 had prayed over it, actually being ordained and all, but Renjun is devout enough that even his prayers can sanctify a little water.

Jaemin says, “I admire your steadfast attitude. A rarity these days. Everyone is so fickle. Everyone gives in so easily. I love that you are not so pliant.”

Renjun hears the toilet flush. He hears the stall door click as it unlocks.

Jaemin opens the door. Handsome and stupidly perfect.

Renjun cups his hands and lets the holy water pool in his palms. He keeps his face as blank as possible as he holds steady eye contact with Jaemin in the mirror. Then he moves. Lightning fast, he spins around and hurls the water at Jaemin.

But Jaemin isn’t standing in front of the stall. He is standing at the sink next to Renjun, washing his hands.

The holy water splashes uselessly across the panel of the door and it all drips down to the tile floor.

“You almost had me,” Jaemin says. At the neighboring sink, he lathers soap across his knuckles, across his palms. “See? This is why I need you around. There will never be a dull day with you in my life, sweet angel.”

Renjun cups more holy water in his hands. “I will not be owned by you,” he states. He raises his arms and flings the water to his right.

Of course, Jaemin is no longer standing there. He’s on the far side of the bathroom, wiping his hands dry with paper towels from the dispenser. “Don’t you get it, Renjun,” he asks with a toothy smile. “I wouldn’t own you. If anything, you’d own me. I’d sit you on a pedestal, child of Adam. I would bow before you. You would mean everything to me.”

Renjun grits his teeth. He gathers more water in his hands and hurls it to his left.

Jaemin is nowhere to be seen. He’s so fast. Even for a demon. 

Renjun has fought to survive against the infernal beasts for over a decade and he has never struggled like this. He has always managed to cast these foul demons back to hell but even his years of training have not been enough to bring him close to Jaemin.

From immediately behind him, Jaemin tsks. 

Renjun startles. He spins, his spine against the counter.

“Look at all this water on the floor,” Jaemin says calmly. He looks around, hands stuffed in his dress pants pockets. “It’s a slip hazard. I should page the custodian. Do you know where the wet floor signs are?”

“Begone,” Renjun screams. Because he is afraid. More than he’s ever been. The fear grips him totally and utterly. Makes him tremble down to his shoes. He is so afraid that he nearly asks himself if God is truly with him. He nearly asks if a demon like this is beyond His reach. But Renjun doesn’t ask. He must not ask questions. Asking questions creates doubt and he will not doubt. He will only serve the Lord. Renjun keeps his eyes locked on Jaemin and it takes a significant amount of willpower not to get lost in the dark brown depths of the demon’s eyes. Renjun reaches an arm behind him, dips his hand in the water and then flings his arm forward, tossing more water.

Right before his eyes, Jaemin _disappears_. 

No. He simply moves so fast that Renjun’s eyes can’t keep up.

In less than a blink, Jaemin is on the opposite side of the restroom, near the swinging door. He has found a wet floor sign somewhere and he props it up next to the door. He says, “I should have brought my phone with me. I could have called down to the front desk. Have someone sent up here to get all of this mopped up.”

He vanishes from sight again only to reappear directly in front of Renjun. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. So close that they share breaths.

Renjun panics. “You unearthly beast!”

“No name calling,” Jaemin chides. His hands press against Renjun’s chest and slide down his torso before gripping his hips. As if Renjun is as light as feathers, Jaemin hoists him up and sits him on the bathroom counter. “Well… Unless you’re into name calling.” Jaemin wedges himself into the tight space between Renjun’s thighs. “We should discuss these things. Set proper boundaries. Do you mind me calling you angel?”

And Renjun says, “No” before he has the sense to repress the thought.

“Good,” Jaemin says. His breath is hot and sweet against Renjun’s collarbones. “Because it fits you perfectly, child of Adam.”

Renjun decides to use this moment to his advantage. He will fight temptation by offering an even greater temptation. He will turn himself into the ripe red apple that hangs from the tree. He will be the fruit that corrupts. Not the wily, proud human who is corrupted. Renjun wraps his legs around Jaemin’s wide hips, crosses them at the ankles to hold the man in place against him. Just that one movement stokes a fire in his belly that he’s not sure he’s ever experienced before. It is temptation and he must resist.

Jaemin tightens his hold on Renjun’s hips and presses their bodies closer and closer so that there is no way Renjun can’t _feel_ him. His size. His girth. It’s all easy to imagine. Jaemin lets out the quietest moan. “Will you sin with me?” The proposition is made all the more blasphemous by the fact that Jaemin sucks the cross on Renjun’s necklace into his mouth, as if to reiterate the uselessness of the golden trinket.

“Not today.” 

“I see. There will be other days.”

Renjun moves on instinct. His hands are still damp with holy water. More than enough to do damage. He reaches forward with his left hand and grabs Jaemin across his face to hold him still. With his right hand, he presses his palm flat to Jaemin’s skin and, with his thumb, draws a cross dead center on the man’s forehead.

Renjun feels God’s blessing transfer. It jolts through his entire system like he’s been struck by lightning and then leaps from his body to Jaemin. Renjun sees the wetness of the holy water sizzle and bubble up like oil in a pan on Jaemin’s face.

All Jaemin does is chuckle and go, “That tickles,” in a velvety voice.

For a harrowing moment, Renjun can see Jaemin’s true form.

And it is breathtaking. 

His skin is molten like lava and pulsates with red, crackling energy. Four obsidian horns tower above Jaemin’s flaming head of hair. Leathery wings the color of volcanic ash stretch from his back and brush the ceiling of the restroom. Jaemin no longer has hands, he has claws. He no longer has feet, he has hooves. His eyes are red like hellfire and when he smiles, his teeth are black and jagged and rim the edge of the bottomless pit of his mouth.

Then Renjun blinks. The demon is gone. The Jaemin that he’s always known is back. Handsome and hard-working and brilliant.

Jaemin pouts. He releases his grip on Renjun’s hips to bring both of his gentle hands up to Renjun’s cheeks. His fingers wipe through the salt trails. “Do not cry, my sweet angel.”

But Renjun can’t really help them. Not after that glimpse of what he’d seen. “I saw you,” he chokes out.

Jaemin lowers his hands. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly with what may be regret. “Do I terrify you?”

“No,” Renjun responds hastily. Truthfully. “You’re beautiful.” And maybe it’s because he’s caught up in the moment, maybe it’s because he’s overwhelmed by the insatiable hunger in his gut, but Renjun brings a hand up to Jaemin’s jaw. His fingers are still wet with holy water and he can feel the blessed liquid boil on his fingertips as it comes into contact with the devilish fiend but Jaemin doesn’t even flinch. “You’re beautiful,” Renjun repeats. And he almost caves completely. He almost leans forward and kisses Jaemin’s mouth. But he remembers who he is and what he stands for. He resists temptation. He pulls back.

Jaemin desperately keens forward as if to chase the kiss like it’s a gift but he senses Renjun’s hesitation and pulls away. “Let me drag you down into depravity, O child of Adam,” Jaemin whispers.

And it would be so easy. It would be so _fun_ to let him. Renjun’s body longs to be defiled. To be ruined. But he must hold true to his spirit. That is the most important thing. “I shouldn’t,” Renjun croaks out, unsure of why he’s suddenly so hoarse.

Jaemin accepts the answer. He unties Renjun’s legs from around his waist and puts a tortuous amount of distance between them. Jaemin visibly steadies himself. He sucks in a breath like a drowning man getting that first, blessed gulp of air at the surface. And just like that, he’s back to his old self. The confident, grinning, proud Jaemin who commands everyone’s attention at the head of the conference table. “Next time you want to exorcise me, try something a little bit unorthodox, why don’t you?” Jaemin struts away, towards the restroom doors. “You’re a smart man with plenty of resources. I’m sure you can come up with something that’ll surprise me.”

And then he’s gone.

ɤ

Renjun is no angel. Never will he lay claim to such a title.

He is merely a man of unshakeable, unwavering faith. All of his steps are guided by the Lord.

His spirit is free of sin and when it ever dulls and greys from even the mildest amoral act, he immediately seeks penance to wash his soul clean again. His body is a temple and he will not let it crumble.

Renjun is no angel but he firmly believes that he has angels encamped around him so that no hurt, harm or danger will befall him. He firmly believes he is walking the path of the righteous and that removing demons from this world and sending them back to the fiery pit where they belong is the least he can do as a child of God.

Renjun just needs a little bit of guidance.

_You must persevere_ , says SHXTAR0’s email response, already deleting itself from his inbox.

Renjun just needs clearer guidance than that.

ɤ

  
“Oh? What’s this?” Donghyuck asks from over Renjun’s right shoulder. “Who are you ordering flowers for?”

“Who are you ordering flowers for,” Yangyang parrots. He leans over Renjun’s left shoulder to get a better look at the computer monitor. “Orange and white? Oh that’s a fantastic combination. I see roses. What are those other things? I don’t think I’ve ever seen those before. Those either! Well, I know those white ones are baby’s breath.”

“Can you refrain from speaking with your mouth full,” Renjun asks him. He wipes at his hand to remove a speckle of Yangyang’s spit.

“Oh, sorry,” the guy says, his mouth still full. 

“Are you doing something personal on company time,” Donghyuck asks. He looks down at Renjun with furrowed brows but then he quirks his lips up in a smile. “I like that. How Marxist of you.”

Renjun feels like he’s got an angel and a devil on his shoulders. Or, in this specific case, two wretched devils. “Can you both leave? I’m begging.”

“That’s the shop two blocks down the road, isn’t it?” Donghyuck points at the logo near the top of the screen. “Can you believe that I used to work there before I worked here?”

“Oh shit!” Yangyang giggles. “I bet you were terrible.”

“The absolute worst,” Donghyuck agrees. “I was so bad that I even killed the succulents.”

“I believe it,” Renjun exhales.

“I used to work at a roller skating rink,” says Yangyang, still chomping on his snack and letting tiny bits of spit fly all over the place. “And before that, I worked at a cell phone shop. Before that I worked at, well, it was only seasonal, but I worked at The Gap. And before that, I worked at GameStop.”

Renjun tries again. “Can you not speak with your mouth full?”

It doesn’t help that Yangyang is chewing on sunflower seeds. The things turn his breath bitter and ripe. Renjun is _this close_ to pinching his nose to block the stench. 

Donghyuck asks, “Renjun, where did you work at before this?”

Renjun refuses to get swept away by their conversation. “Places.”

Yangyang leans even further over Renjun’s shoulder. “That address is for this building. You’re delivering that to someone here?”

“It’s a gift,” Renjun states. He pushes Yangyang away. Then he spins in his chair and pushes Donghyuck away. “Really hoping to catch someone special by surprise.”

“Someone special, huh,” Donghyuck practically scoffs.

Yangyang nods slowly. “I didn’t know you were in love with someone, Renjun. Doesn’t really seem to match your brand.”

“It’s not love,” Renjun defends himself. “It can’t be. It’s only been a day.”

“So you say,” Donghyuck responds. But at least he walks away and returns to his own work desk.

Yangyang offers Renjun a handful of sunflower seeds, which Renjun promptly refuses. Then he walks to the other end of the table to sit in front of his computer, leaving Renjun to finalize his order of the flower bouquet in peace.

ɤ

The employee lounge isn’t the best place to initiate combat with a demon, Renjun realizes. He can’t get into a fist fight here. He can’t pull a knife. He can’t whip out his rosary.

It’s too open. Too public. Too many watching eyes.

And perhaps that’s _exactly_ why Jaemin approaches Renjun while he’s fixing himself a sandwich. Whole wheat bread. Lettuce. Tomato. Strips of microwaveable bacon. He just likes sandwiches, alright? All kinds.

“Thank you for handling that mishap, Renjun,” says Jaemin. “The guys upstairs would have raked me over the coals if not for you.” He leans his back against the counter and splays his hand across the surface, well within Renjun’s reach. If they were alone, he could quickly bless the fork he used to pick up his bacon and then drive the prongs into Jaemin’s hand. Because they aren’t alone, he must improvise.

Renjun grabs the pepper shaker and sprinkles some over the lettuce and bacon on his sandwich. “I’m just doing what any good employee would do,” he says.

“A good employee wouldn’t have done anything,” Jaemin corrects. “Claim it was a problem out of their pay grade. Or they would have waited until I told them to do something. Even better, they wouldn’t have been paying enough attention to realize something was wrong in the first place.”

“Don’t badmouth Yangyang,” says Renjun smoothly. “He adores you and would gladly kiss the ground you walk on.” He switches to the salt shaker and uses wide, sweeping arm movements to disguise the fact that he’s not only sprinkling salt onto his sandwich, but onto his other, open palm.

“I’m a false idol,” Jaemin chuckles. “He better not worship me.”

Renjun is positive that he’s collected just about enough salt on his hand. Salt is practically iron on a demon’s skin. Even a little bit can weigh a demon down like they’ve been caged. If Renjun can just pile some on top of Jaemin’s splayed hand, he won’t be able to move. He won’t be able to escape as Renjun whispers the Lord’s Prayer in his ear.

“Anyways,” Jaemin continues. “I want to thank you. From the heart.”

“Do you even have a heart?” Renjun asks.

“Two, actually. And you have both of them, I hope you know.”

Renjun moves. Fast as a snake striking. He turns his palm and dumps the salt, intending to cover Jaemin’s hand with it and pin him to the spot.

Yet, even distracted, even with his head turned away, Jaemin is faster.

In the split second it takes the salt to fall to the countertop, Jaemin has step-turned so that he’s standing on Renjun’s right side as opposed to his left. That was a risky, ballsy move on Jaemin’s end. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen such superhuman speed.

Renjun glances over his shoulder but no one else in the lounge is even looking in their direction. Perhaps that’s the one negative to having his back turned to the crowd. 

Jaemin lowers his voice. “Do you want to take a guess at what else I’ve got two of?”

Renjun matches his low tone. “Is this sexual harassment?”

“Depends on what you guess.”

Renjun runs his tongue over his teeth. He can practically feel the frustration build up inside him. Jaemin knows his salt trick. He won’t be able to do it again. So Renjun defers to his exorcist training. The very basics. The fundamentals. The building blocks. “Na Jaemin,” he whispers, only loud enough for the demon himself to hear, “with the power of God Almighty on my tongue, I command you to return to the pits of hell this instant.”

Nothing happens.

Because of course nothing would happen.

“Do you really think Na Jaemin is my True Name,” Jaemin asks. “Oh, sweet angel. Do you _want_ to know my True Name? Do you even think you can pronounce it?”

Renjun feels his face heat up and he’s not even entirely sure of the source of his shame.

“I’ll teach you how to say my True Name. Syllable by syllable. If you can say it, I’ll be at your mercy. And I _want_ to be at your mercy. If you can say my name, I’ll do anything you ask.” Then he repeats, “Anything,” in the darkest, filthiest tone Renjun has ever heard.

Renjun crosses himself, forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder, at just the _sound_ of that word. “Will you go to hell?”

Jaemin chuckles, “Only if you can speak my True Name.” Then he leans backward, a testament to how far into Renjun’s personal space he was leaning. “But even if you learned it, would you _really_ send me away? Is that truly what you want?”

“My duty calls for it.” Renjun keeps his voice calm and firm so that it won’t betray the way his hands shake. “And because it is my duty, I can.”

“You can… But will you?”

Renjun swallows his fear. “Teach me your True Name and I most certainly will.”

“We will see, child of Adam.” Jaemin steps away, his dress shoes clicking on the employee lounge floor. “We will see.”

ɤ

Renjun is almost embarrassed to be standing where he is right now.

He stares down at his shoes with an uncharacteristic level of shyness. He’s not really a people person, if that wasn’t clear based on his demeanor. He merely tolerates Yangyang and only allows Donghyuck to share space with him. The rest of the staff? He’s not even sure he could call them by their names without getting them all mixed up. He clears his throat and asks, “Are you busy?”

Mark Lee From Human Resources startles and spins around in his office chair to face the door. “Oh. I’m not busy. Come in. Come in.”

Renjun steps into the clean, well-organized room with its heavy wooden furniture and rows of metal filing cabinets. It gives off a totally different vibe from Jaemin’s modern, minimalist office upstairs. 

The man at the desk looks kind and handsome, with his round cheeks and fluffy, bleached hair. He’s done away with the more traditional dress shirt and tie combo and wears some kind of long, wooly cardigan over a shockingly casual t-shirt. 

“I’d like to make a report,” Renjun spits out.

“Well… Okay. Alright. Let me just pull up your file,” says Mark Lee From Human Resources. He types something on his keyboard with a flourish. “What department?”

“Marketing,” Renjun states.

“Name?”

He almost gives the name The Church gave him when he was christened. “Huang Renjun.”

There’s more typing. There’s more mouse clicking. Seconds pass. Then Mark Lee From Human Resources looks up at him. “Did you want to have a seat?”

“I’d rather stand.” But Renjun at least steps closer to the center of the room so he’s not hovering by the door like a rabbit about to flee. “Your day going alright?”

“It sure is.” There’s a brief silence. Tense. Heavy. The both of them still waiting on the other to speak first. Outside the room and down the hall, someone with a loud, screechy laugh catches the giggles. Then Mark Lee From Human Resources says, impatiently, “What would you like to report, Renjun?”

Renjun knows exactly what he wants to say. He practiced everything on the elevator ride up here. He knows what to say! That Na Jaemin is a high-level demon out of hell so he probably wasn’t 100% honest with the experience and education on his resume. And isn’t that against protocol? There’s got to be protocol about that right? And if there isn’t, something can at least be done about the fact that they hired a high-level demon. 

But none of those words make it to Renjun’s tongue because he sounds like a lunatic even in his own head.

He doubts The Church will just let him share information about demons with civilians. The Church had tried arming the populace with such knowledge in the distant past. Didn’t go well. Torches and pitchforks don’t really do too much to demons. The results were quite bloody. And not for the demons.

Mark Lee From Human Resources takes a noisy slurp from his chocolate milkshake and props his feet up on his desk. He misinterprets Renjun’s glassy-eyed silence. “Did you need a moment?” He waves a hand towards the box at the corner of his desk. “Need a Kleenex?”

“I’m…” Renjun looks up. “No. I’m good.”

Another painful silence. Neither of them know what to expect from the other. Mark Lee From Human Resources asks, “Well, what can I do for you? Is there a serious problem? Do we need to call someone?”

Renjun isn’t sure how he should handle this. How he should word this. As far as he can tell, you just didn’t _say_ that someone was a high-level demon! That’s how you got funny looks! “It’s about Jaemin.”

“He’s the Marketing Manager, right?” Mark Lee From Human Resources uses his free hand to type on his keyboard but he fails to consider the fact that Renjun can see the reflection of the computer monitor in the glass window behind him and Renjun is no longer reassured by this meeting because Mark Lee From Human Resources isn’t pulling up any files or typing out any reports. He’s just putting line after line of gibberish into a Word document. “What about him?” And when his question is met with silence, Mark Lee From Human Resources lowers his voice, “Do we need to close the door?”

And, for a moment, Renjun considers doing so. It would make this easier. He wants to spill everything. That he’s an exorcist working under an ordained priest tasked with the life-risking job of sending demons back to hell. That The Church isn’t just any church, but a centuries-old organization filled with exorcists and priests who’ve been fighting against the denizens of hell since Christ walked the earth. Renjun wants to admit that one of those demons is Na Jaemin and that he’s been deceiving everyone for the last two and a half years by pretending to be a human… and… and… 

Renjun isn’t entirely sure what else it is that demons do.

Do they really do anything harmful except offer temptation, be hot and lie?

But he’s asking questions again. He cannot ask questions.

Renjun’s not even sure why he came all the way down to this floor anymore. Well, he’s sure, but he’s also not sure because he knew before he took the elevator that he’d sworn an oath of secrecy and loyalty to The Church and that speaking with his HR rep would break that oath of secrecy and loyalty.

SHXTAR0 could be keeping an eye on him somehow. Through CCTVs or something. And maybe he’ll try to kill Renjun if he attempts to spill.

“I…” Renjun squeaks. 

Mark Lee From Human Resources offers him a way out. “We have an anonymous hotline you can call if it’s something you don’t feel comfortable saying to me.”

“Oh, no no no.” Renjun shakes his head. “It’s nothing that serious. I was just— He’s just— Jaemin’s just—” Renjun clamps his mouth shut and takes a moment to get a handle on his words. “He’s just a difficult boss to satisfy, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” Mark Lee From Human Resources takes another noisy sip of his milkshake. He stares at Renjun like he wants to dropkick him out the door.

“Sorry to bother you,” Renjun says. Then he turns on his heel and leaves the office.

ɤ

Yangyang follows Renjun from the elevator lobby to the employee lounge, tugging on Renjun’s shirt sleeve and skipping like an excited child. He delightedly squeals, “The flowers! Oh, look at them. They are so precious. Wow. Didn’t you just order these? Well, not _just_ ordered them, it’s been like two hours, but didn’t you just order these? They got here really fast. I saw the delivery guy bring them in when I was downstairs.”

Renjun sets the bouquet down on the counter in the employee lounge, ignoring Yangyang’s chatter as usual.

Someone’s made a fresh pot of coffee, even though it’s terribly close to the end of the work day. The smell is warm and crisp and oddly energizing. Renjun breathes it in deep and then sets to work untying all the ribbons and useless paper that bouquets come wrapped up in.

“Hey, what are you doing,” Yangyang asks. “You’re, like, undoing all the hard work they did. You gotta respect small business owners, yo. Didn’t Donghyuck say he used to work there? You gotta, like, respect his job history.” He turns around. “Donghyuck!”

“Please don’t call him over here,” begs Renjun.

“Fine,” Yangyang whines. He crosses his arms over his bony chest.

Renjun yanks off the last bit of pastel-colored tissue paper, balls it up and discards it into the trash. “No need to supervise me. I’m just putting the flowers in water,” he says, holding up a glass container as if to demonstrate. A glass container that he will not admit to anyone that he stole from the office supply room. He’ll ask God for forgiveness in a second.

“Are you sure you didn’t buy those for yourself? Are you trying to trick me into making you think you have someone?”

“I have someone,” Renjun replies. “Well, there _is_ someone.” He fills the glass vase with water until it’s about half full. Seems about right. 

“You’re always so secretive. Why can’t you just give me a name?”

“Because you’ll find out who it’s for in ten minutes.” Renjun sticks his hand into the water, squeezes his eyes shut and prays. He puts every ounce of his faith into this. He implores God to give him the strength needed to send this demon back to hell. Because God wouldn’t want him to fraternize with the enemy, would He? Because Renjun’s not sure why the Lord hasn’t just smited Jaemin back to hell Himself. Smited? Smote?

No. No more questions.

What Renjun hopes for is that the flowers will soak up the holy water. Perhaps redistribute a bit of it into the air. Maybe it’ll leave Jaemin choking and sputtering. Maybe he’ll die slow. That would be nice. Renjun opens his eyes and the water in the container has turned sparkly and white and nearly opaque. Perfect. He begins to drop the flower stems into the container. One by one.

Yangyang leans in really close. “Ahh, did you put some kind of plant food in there? The water smells all nice.”

Renjun lightly swats him on the head with a rose. “You could say that.” Then he drops the rose into the container. He wonders how long it will take the flowers to absorb the holy water. He wonders if Jaemin will be damaged just by sniffing a rose, just by holding a stem in his hand. Renjun can only hope.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” And, at long last, Yangyang turns and leaves.

It’s a relief.

Without worrying about the guy standing over his shoulder and being in his way, it only takes five more minutes for Renjun to rearrange the bouquet. He uses more time than he should, angling the flowers this way and that until they bunch up in a nice, alternating pattern of orange, orange, white, orange, orange, white. The end result is spectacular. Just like who it is made for. Renjun is aware that it is quite a lot of care to put into something he’s giving Jaemin but that thought doesn’t hit him until he picks up on the fact that his entire face hurts from how broadly he’s smiling.

Renjun clears his throat. He glances around to make sure no one saw him _be happy_ . Fortunately, Zhong Chenle From Sales doesn’t seem to be paying anything but his cellphone any attention while Park Jisung From Development probably doesn't even know who Renjun is. If that even _is_ Park Jisung. Renjun’s wretched with names. 

With everything prepared, Renjun carries the large bouquet out of the employee lounge and back into the work room. He confidently strides past all of the tables and chairs and computer monitors. He ignores Donghyuck’s raised eyebrow and he blatantly disregards Yangyang’s gaping mouth as the kid realizes where he’s going. Renjun pushes open the door to Jaemin’s office without knocking. He doesn’t need to. The man’s not in. The room is absolutely aglow in the wondrous colors of twilight. Violet and orange and rose. The warm colors feel like the inside of Renjun’s heart. He’s smiling again. So wide that his jaw hurts. 

He sits the bouquet down on the center of Jaemin’s desk and he’s about to leave the office when he realizes that there is no card to identify who left the flowers. Given the events of the day, there’s probably no one else the flowers would be from but Renjun wants to be thorough and upfront.

Not particularly caring about the details, Renjun takes one of the numerous contracts on Jaemin’s desk that have yet to be signed and flips it over to the blank back side. He grabs an ink pen that writes in blue and, in his prettiest handwriting, scribes:

_May you one day meet the Lord._

_From,_

_Your Angel._

ɤ

The stairwell is claustrophobically tight and it’s hot even though the temperature outside is brisk and chilly. Renjun kneels on the landing, hands clasped together. He does not make a habit of bringing his faith to his office job but today has been such an ordeal that the only comfort he can find is in prayer.

“O Lord,” he speaks passionately, “I will always be Your loyal servant. I live every day of my life to sing Your praise and carry out Your will. In my heart of hearts, I know that is my purpose.” He squeezes his hands tighter together, he squeezes his eyes more firmly shut, as if that will somehow speed up his message. “Lord, I welcome every challenge and every test and every obstacle that You lay in my path because only You know what I am capable of. Only You know what is too much for me. And because You believe in me like this, Lord, I believe in You. I will rise up to this challenge. I will pass Your test and my faith in You will be all that more ironclad because You saw me through it.” He pauses to take a breath, to give the question he is about to ask a little more space to grow. “Lord, I am but a lowly servant. I cannot always see the great and mighty things You have in store. So I ask You, I beg You, to show me what I must do. Send me a sign. What must I do to get through this? How can I make You happy?”

And he’s so deep in prayer that the stairwell door banging open rips a high-pitched scream from his throat. He looks over his shoulder only to roll his eyes.

Of course it is Jaemin. “I knew I felt the Holy Spirit out here,” he says, fanning his hand in front of his nose as if he’s just caught Renjun smoking cigarettes.

Renjun doesn’t bother to lower his voice as he rushes the last of his prayers. “I know You want me to exorcise him, Lord. I’m asking You to show me how. Place the weapon in my hand, O Lord. Amen.” He gets up off of his knees. “What do you want now?”

“Nothing much, Renjun.” He steps farther out onto the landing but Renjun steps around him to avoid getting backed into the corner of the stairwell. Jaemin takes no offense. “I was just looking at my watch and noticed that it’s been a whole half hour since you’ve tried to kill me. That’s all. You haven’t given up yet, have you?”

“Never,” Renjun speaks.

“Good. Because the last thing I want you to do is give up on me, sweet angel.”

And Renjun can _see_ the moment when Jaemin realizes he’s walked right into a trap. The surprise on his face is decadent. “Oh!” Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His smile falters the tiniest bit. He wags a finger in the air. “Oh, you got me good. See? You never give me a chance to let my guard down and I appreciate that. No one on this earth can do me like you.”

Renjun lets his ego get the better of him. He laughs. “You did take longer to walk into the net than I thought you would. I commend you for that.”

Jaemin points to the stairs. “I should have paid more attention when Donghyuck said all the salt shakers went missing.” 

Because on the bottom stair leading up, on the top stair leading down, and in a perimeter that wraps the entire landing, there is an unbroken line of salt.

Jaemin props his hands on his hips and sighs like this actually may end up being an inconvenience. “You _know_ I can’t cross these lines, babe,” he whines. “I can’t even get near them.”

“Don’t call me babe,” says Renjun. “I’ve grown emotionally attached to angel.” He unscrews the cap on the last salt shaker he could get his hands on and dumps the stark white contents onto the floor in front of the stairwell door, effectively sealing Jaemin in. Renjun knows that this is very stupid. He knows he’s trapped himself in here with a _demon_ , and he understands that doing such a thing may bring about the end of his mortal life, but he hopes he’s done enough good deeds in his short life to make it to Heaven.

“My sweet angel,” Jaemin coos. “I hate to break your little heart but I think you forgot to bring some weapons in here with you.” And it’s chilling how close they’ve come to drawing the same conclusion.

“Oh, I have a weapon.” Renjun reaches a hand into his pocket, grabs a fistful of the white stuff and then hurls it at his foe. “Pocket salt!”

But his assault is too slow. The white grains sail through the air but do not come into contact with any demon flesh.

“Behind you,” Jaemin whispers into his ear.

Renjun grabs more salt out of his pocket. He turns and hurls it.

Jaemin isn’t there.

The salt bounces harmlessly off the wall and scatters across the floor.

“You’re thinking outside the box,” Jaemin praises him. “No one’s ever done this to me. It’s like it’s my birthday or something.”

Renjun is tired of hearing his voice. He bellows, “Go to hell!”

Jaemin appears right in front of him. “Why do you keep saying it like it’s the worst thing that could happen to me? I am a lord, you know. I have a castle and I’d love for you to see it. I’d love for you to _share it with me_.”

Renjun reaches into his pocket. There’s only so much salt left in there. He grabs what he can, pulls his fist out of his pocket, flings the salt forward. But even though he’s moved as fast as he could, Jaemin still manages to be faster.

Renjun shivers as hot breath billows over his neck. He spins around only to come face to face, nose to nose, with the demon lord.

“Hello there,” Jaemin says. “We’ve run into an issue.”

“What issue is that,” Renjun asks. He tries to push Jaemin away from him but Jaemin is strong and fast and slips his arms around Renjun’s waist. He pulls their bodies flush together.

“Thanks to your pocket salt, this is the only place I can stand.”

Renjun turns his head. It’s a tad hard to see but, sure enough, the stairwell landing is covered in tiny grains of salt. Renjun looks back over at Jaemin only to wish he hadn’t. Jaemin is _so close_ . He purposefully brings their mouths close, less than a hair’s width apart, and it takes all of Renjun’s self-control not to tilt his head _just so_ and kiss Jaemin’s mouth.

“You know you want me,” Jaemin exhales.

Renjun opens and closes his mouth just to catch Jaemin’s breath on his tongue. Just to feel Jaemin’s lips move so close to his own. He snaps his mouth shut and shakes the temptation from his mind. “I’m a believer in the Lord. I want for nothing.”

Yet it feels so good to be held like this. So good that Renjun raises both of his arms and threads his hands behind Jaemin’s neck. He looks into Jaemin’s eyes and he can practically see the adoration sparkling in them. 

They aren’t moving at all. Not a muscle. But it feels like they’re slow dancing.

“You’re going to fall for me, angel,” says Jaemin. And, for once, he does not speak with that cocky, lilting tone of his. He speaks plainly. Openly. What he says is the truth and they both know.

_God_ , do they both know it.

And maybe, Renjun thinks, _this right here_ is the path the Lord is trying to show him. Renjun kept asking for a sign. Jaemin kept bursting through the nearest door.

Renjun wants Jaemin to break him. He wants Jaemin to work him apart. 

He wants the Lord to forgive him for wanting that. 

He is only human, after all, and the flesh is very very very weak. Yet right at the moment of surrender, right when he’s about to _succumb_ , Renjun finds one last shred of his resolve. “I’m not going to fall for you, demon,” he states. But then his resolve shatters just that easily. “Not yet.”

He twists in Jaemin’s arms, fast enough to pull free of his grip, and then makes a mad leap for the stairs, careful not to disturb the hundreds and hundreds of salt crystals that litter the floor.

Jaemin rolls his eyes and sighs. “Are you going to _leave me here_?”

“Don’t you know it,” Renjun confirms. He starts up the stairs.

“Someone will come through here, you know,” Jaemin shouts at his back. "Eventually."

Renjun glances at his watch. The work day is nearly over. People are going to start filtering out of the building. The chances of someone coming through the stairwell are quite high, Renjun knows. The chances of Jaemin getting whoever it is to kick him a path through the salt without questioning anything is also quite high.

Jaemin will be alright. He will be fine.

“Just stand there and reflect on your actions,” Renjun tells him. He takes a step or two up, stops and then turns back around to commit Jaemin’s mildly annoyed face to memory. “At least _try_ to repent.” 

“Anything for you, angel,” Jaemin tells him sweetly. He has the nerve to blow a kiss.

Renjun isn’t half as annoyed by it as he thought he’d be. “Go to hell.” 

“Only if we can live there for all eternity together.”

Renjun doesn’t even give it a thought. “Never in a million years.” And then he rushes up the stairs, ready to finish out his work day.

ɤ

It’s almost dark outside when Renjun gets another message from SHXTAR0. It simply reads _Does he still live?_

Right. The demon that Renjun is supposed to exorcise. Does he still live? Renjun blows breath out of his nose before he replies back, _Unfortunately_.

The Church will surely punish him for his incompetence.

A few seconds later, Renjun’s phone dings. He checks it, expecting something regarding his future or lack thereof with The Church but finds instead that it is a notification from his bank. A second sizable amount has been transferred to his account. Renjun blinks. Then he squints and raises the phone closer to his eyes in case he’s looking at it wrong. Is there an error? He hasn’t completed the job. He shouldn’t be getting the other half of his payment yet!

As if in response to his concerns, he gets an additional response from SHXTAR0. _If he still lives, then it is the will of the Lord._

And Renjun isn’t sure if a near-blasphemous statement like that is reassuring or worrying. But before he can extend the discussion, the email thread deletes itself out of Renjun’s inbox.

Just in time, too, because Yangyang is suddenly hovering over his shoulder, mouth breathing into Renjun’s ear. “I was taking the stairs down to the lobby and I saw Jaemin standing there. Renjun are you listening to me?”

“No,” Renjun hisses. He pries Yangyang’s suspiciously sticky fingers off of his shoulder. “But you’re going to keep talking anyway.”

“And that’s correct,” Yangyang agrees. “You’re not going to believe the odd thing he asked me to do. I mean, who spills salt all over the floor? Who is so obsessed with their shoes that they can’t walk over salt?”

Renjun doesn’t know that he’s smiling at his blank computer screen until Yangyang points it out.

ɤ

Renjun stands beneath the shelter of the crowded bus stop, more than a little irritated. He was positive that rain hadn’t been in the forecast for tonight. Yet the sky is blotchy and gray above him and it turns darker and darker as a drizzle begins to fall. It comes down steadily harder as the storm approaches. A freezing cold spring rain that’ll have him soaked to the bone on the long walk back to his modest home. 

He tries his best not to think of it as heavenly punishment for letting a demon live today.

That stupid demon!

On the rooftop, in the office, in the restroom, the employee lounge, the stairwell… 

Today’s events flash through his mind, repeating at a nauseating speed in his head. Renjun can’t even properly recall what work he’d actually done at his job today, what topics were discussed in the briefings, the subjects of the emails he was chained into, because the only thing his brain can supply him with is Jaemin’s face close to his. Jaemin’s teasing hands. Jaemin’s breath on his skin. Renjun hates failure more than anything in the world. He was taught by The Church to fear it. Besides, failure makes him feel like less of a person. A hollow, incomplete shell. But deep down in his spirit, he’s a bit thankful that he failed. He’s a little glad that he missed his shot while up on the roof during his lunch break. Today was… fun. Yes, he’s been dutiful to The Church all of these years. He’s honed his skills exorcising the most vicious and wily of demons. He’s paid more than his fair share of tithes and offerings. 

…but Renjun’s not sure how long it’s been since he’s had _fun_.

He’s not sure how many months have passed since he’s been so happy.

When his trained senses pick up on an overly familiar set of footsteps approaching, he turns around and is not surprised at all to see Jaemin walking through the crowd towards him, pitch black umbrella held over his head, dress shoes splashing in the puddles. Jaemin’s suit jacket is slung over his shoulder in casual coolness and the way his hair and clothes and skin is damp with rain makes him look a tad ethereal. Regal. Perhaps it’s because just a smidgen of his inherent perfection has been stripped away and this mild peek of the imperfect realness beneath is what intrigues Renjun so fully.

And it’s not until then that Renjun realizes that it’s too late for him. 

He’s fallen head over heels for the man. The demon lord will have his chance at corrupting him far sooner than either of them have planned. Renjun curses the way his heart rate picks up at the prospect. It is only human to want and to desire. He is only human. He’ll just ask the Lord for forgiveness afterwards. Renjun turns away and mutters to himself, “One frustration at a time, please.” One life-ruining discovery at a time.

“Good work out there today,” Jaemin says. He has to speak up to be heard over the pitter-patter of the rain. Over the conversation around them. “You really showed me how much of an asset you are.” And despite his toothy little grin, those words don’t come off as condescending. “Keep it up, Renjun.”

Renjun ignores him. It’s his go-to defense mechanism.

Jaemin is not deterred. He stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Renjun. “You sure you want to turn down dinner tonight? There’s this Caribbean-inspired joint I’ve been meaning to swing by.”

Instead of a direct answer, Renjun poses a question. “Don’t you have a private car or something? Why are you waiting for the bus?”

“I’m not waiting for the bus,” Jaemin responds. “I’m waiting for _you_.” And then he drapes his suit jacket over Renjun’s shivering shoulders and Renjun is too grateful for the warmth to shuck off the demon lord’s clothing.

“You’ll be waiting until hell freezes over,” Renjun snaps.

Jaemin chuckles. “Guess I won’t have to wait too long. That happens more often than you think. Why else do you think I’m _up here_ , enjoying the better weather?” He waves a hand out at the wall of falling rain. 

It’s a joke, clearly. Renjun does not laugh. Under the watchful eye of God, he must try valiantly to resist evil. He must at least _try_.

Jaemin leans over until his wickedly pink lips brush against the sensitive shell of Renjun’s ear. “Thanks for the flowers, by the way. I knew you’d fall for me. Didn’t I tell you earlier?”

Renjun sighs wearily.

Jaemin keeps going. “The holy water in the vase was a very nice, thoughtful touch. Adds a little zzazz.” 

The two of them stand in tense, stilted silence for a moment. Forced to crowd in close to each other as more and more people huddle beneath the roof of the bus stop for shelter from the rain. Renjun wonders why tonight, of all nights, is the one time his bus is behind schedule. 

“You’ll get me some day,” Jaemin says. “With your little tricks, I mean. You’ll banish me one of these days. I believe in you, sweet child of Adam.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Go to hell.”

“Only if you walk me home. Those streets are dark and I’m easily frightened.”

And for some strange reason, that almost gets a laugh out of Renjun. He has to disguise it beneath a cough. 

He’s clearly not successful though because Jaemin gasps, leans into his face and points at him. “You _can_ smile! I knew you had it in you.”

On the far end of the block, the bus turns the corner and rumbles towards them, tires hissing across the wet street. Finally.

Jaemin pats Renjun on the shoulder in what must be an attempt at being reassuring. Then he pulls back and gives Renjun a smile. Not some shit-eating grin or devilish smirk but a genuine, joyful smile. “Same time tomorrow,” he asks, like he’s actually looking forward to fending for his life.

Renjun tries to remain stoic but he can’t help but _let go_ and laugh. “Same time tomorrow, boss.”

“It’ll be Friday. Dress casual.” Jaemin backs away, out into the rain. He has the nerve to flutter his fingers in a goodbye wave. “Tacos in the employee lounge for lunch!”

Renjun longs to run after him. To hug him and hold him and perhaps even kiss him on the mouth beneath the cold rain. Maybe even take him up on that offer of dinner and to fall into sweet, sweet depravity underneath him with Jaemin looking as good as that, but Renjun must be strong. He must hold the flame of his faith steady so that it may burn bright. Like SHXTAR0 told him earlier today, Renjun must persevere. Because even this has to be a test the Lord sent him. “I will destroy you,” Renjun says loudly, then promptly ignores the alarmed looks of the people in the crowd around him.

“Trust me, child of Adam,” Jaemin teases, “there’s nothing that I want more from you.” And then he turns around and all but melts into the evening rain.

As the bus rumbles up to the curb and the doors swing open, Renjun clenches his fists in steadfast determination.

The rooftop, the office, the restroom, the employee lounge, the stairwell… Those scenarios were just warm-ups. Testing the limits of his own resolve. He must come up with something more efficient tomorrow.

In fact, he’s already planning his next move.


End file.
